Red Riding Hood's Curse
by sribena
Summary: Forget that "little Red Riding Hood went to give her grandma cookies crap", the real Red Riding Hood is enclosed within the likes of Phoenix Trentgrove. But she has a terrible burden, an enemy, and a dark curse soon to be upon her - armed with a 23-Caliber pistol in a small wicker basket, Phoenix fights for her soul...
1. Prologue

Prologue

I am aware of what I am about to do. I know it is seriously wrong, and I know that its inhumane - but if I don't kill him, he will return tonight to take his next victim. I am ready to do what I have to do.

I walk through the forest alone, the dark trees rapturing the last few shreds of innocent light in this god forsaken place. I check my basket, concealing my weapon, my 23-Caliber pistol, and the two silver bullets it contains. I was supposed to have three, but since the accident, I put the gun away and started slaying without it… But it was hard. He returned. He threatened my family, he threatened my human soul. So I must claim what is left of his with one bullet shot. Besides, three seemed a little cliche anyway.


	2. Chapt 1

Chapt. 1

"Why don't you just use one? Save the other for a rainy day!" My older brother said to me before I left. He was the only family member that really understood, after returning with his scythe from destroying the evil trolls living under Tweed Bridge just east of our cottage. "One bullet is more skilful… and dramatic."

"Because, Thomas, these silver bullets are not only fucking hard to get hold of, but they're also my chances to destroy Venenuin before he destroys me. I've already wasted one" - he gives me a pitiful look - "but now I only have two. If I miss the first time I better fucking get it the second."

"Do you still worry about that day, Phoenix?" Thomas asks me, his curly brown hair brushes his forehead and he rests his head on his hand.

"Yeah." I swallow slowly. "All the time." It was true. I couldn't stop picturing it in my dreams. I was pursuing what I am pursuing now, Venenuin, the Alpha. I don't know how he knew of me, but the oracles and the prophecies always spoke of him, and his interest for the right slayer to convert to the wrong side. No one knew who, and no one knew it was me. I didn't want anyone to find out, if they did then they'd draw attention off other monsters and cryptos, and there would be a war - and the war would be for me. It was always going to be me. I killed my first monster, as a slayer of Legion XXV, the first day I started "monster camp". I killed it with my hands, allegedly, but I don't remember much of the past, since the day I shot an innocent man.

He was in the woods while I was stalking Venenuin's hideout. He must of stumbled across it without realising, because he reeked of the pack's stench. I was undetected, and so completely sure it was him. I pulled out my 23-Caliber pistol, kissed the tip and shot him. It was a flawless kill… but it was wrong. He didn't revolt into a disgusting demon-like creature, or bleed black blood, or even set on fire as they're supposed to. He screamed, he cried, and he bled. He bled thick red blood. It trickled out of his chest and I appeared out of the shadows, running and panicking because I felt the hairs on my spine prick up and a flutter in my heart and that DOES NOT ever happen when you just kill a monster.

At camp they always told us to rely on our instincts. I ignored mine, and ditched it for logic, telling myself, "Oh he stinks of the pack, and he fits the profile of the man I'm hunting. It's Venenuin.", but I was wrong. I shot and killed an innocent man that could of had a family. I waited with him as he slowly crumpled into a lifeless carcass, I spoke to him softly as he faded into a new dimension, and he watched me and nodded and whimpered silently as tears streamed down his face.

If I couldn't remember much, that was the one thing I do, and will always remember for as long as I live. I went home straight away. I stopped pursuing my hunt. I called other slayers, told them I didn't find Venenuin. They sounded sympathetic and said they found some more of his tracks out in Tweed woods, the forest I was recently in. They said they found blood, they said they thought he killed a new victim but there was no body… but when I hung up, I sat by the phone and remained silent and speechless, knowing with condescending guilt that they found the blood of the man I killed. And the body, they would never find, was buried thirty-feet under ground outside the border of the forest. No one would ever no. Not even the everyday civilisation that is oblivious to Slayers and monsters.


	3. Chapt 2

Chapt. 2

"I brought you a surprise, baby!" Mom says as she hugs me tightly, her big brown eyes are as bright as the moon. I giggle with glee as she cradles me on her lap and pulls a box over to me. After all the birthday surprises, I can't imagine what else I could possibly need or want. I tear into it, ripping into it as though it is my first monster all over again.

"Mommy! Mommy its gorgeous. Look at it, Daddy! And Thomas. You both look at this right now." I say matter-of-factly. "It's the best coat in the world." I pull out a crimson red cape style coat from amongst the layers of tissue paper, and although it's a few sizes to big for my seven-year-old body, I still sling it over my shoulders and pop my arms through. It drags on the floor slightly, but I manage to do a twirl without stumbling. Thomas claps and cheers and tells me how pretty I look, and dad hoists me up onto his shoulders and the cape conjoins us together.

I creep through the forest further, placing the hood up of my red coat and lurking between the shadows of the trees. I'm getting closer now. I can sense his smell burning away at my nostrils, and it makes my nose twitch. But I can't stop the endless visions of the moment I killed a man. He could've been a father, a husband, an uncle, maybe even a grandfather if he had kids who had kids. He had a story. His story remains unfinished; a dead end; a dark, bleak, black void. And that's what I regret most. I mourn for the stranger, not because he wasn't Venenuin, or because he's dead, it's because I was the one who took that away from him. I'm the killer. I'm the one who pushed him into the dark, bleak, black void. I took away someone's friend, someone's lover, someone's child.

And that's what makes me question whether I should just give up and let Venenuin find me. Should I just lose it all, lose everything and go over to the darker side? They'd all cut me slack for killing an innocent over there, wouldn't they? They do it all the time. I'm just like them.

And in that moment, my gun quakes in my hand, I ignore the infuriatingly irritable twitches now coming into my nostrils. I consider dropping the gun and walking - no sprinting - through the forest, running into the centre, allowing every horrific creature to claim my soul.

I look at my 23-Caliber. I hold it lower and lower, I watch myself as it gets closer and closer to the ground…


End file.
